


Turn It Up To Thirty (aka, Fuck the Curfew)

by zanoranna (rei_c)



Series: striker!otp [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Biting, Fights, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/zanoranna
Summary: Barcelona flies into London early. David decides to take advantage of that -- and Fernando Torres.
Relationships: Fernando Torres/David Villa
Series: striker!otp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671553





	Turn It Up To Thirty (aka, Fuck the Curfew)

After practice, David corners Pep in the hallway outside of the room Pep's sharing with Tito. "I need to leave," David says, abrupt and to the point. 

"We have a curfew set in place," Pep says. "No one's allowed to leave the hotel once we're back for the evening." 

"Fuck the curfew," David says as he scowls at Pep. 

Pep crosses his arms across his chest and says, mildly, "You know what you're asking for, David. The rules apply to everyone and they apply for a reason." 

"It's a fucking stupid reason," David snaps back. "We all know why we're here and what's at stake, all right? I'm not asking for the night, just a few hours."

"You'll sneak out if I say no, won't you," Pep says. David just glares, mulish, and Pep sighs. "Fine. Go. But if you aren't back before midnight, I'm starting Affelay in your place." David raises an eyebrow even though the tension is his shoulders is starting to let up. Pep rolls his eyes. "Okay, so I won't start Affelay. But you'd better be back, David, or there _will_ be consequences." 

David nods and leaves the _míster_ standing in the middle of the hotel hallway. 

//

David doesn't speak English but he speaks enough to give the cab driver the address and to watch the metre hawkishly. His phone's on silent but it vibrates with three calls while he's travelling through London, from the team's hotel in London Colney to East Earls Court. David's sure the cabbie knows who he is; the man keeps looking into the rearview mirror and opening his mouth as if he's going to say something. 

In the end, the cabbie pulls in front of the building and David pulls out a wad of pound notes, shoving them at the driver and clambering out of the taxi. 

David marches up to the front and snorts as he scans the names. Instead of pushing the buzzer for _E. Nino_ , David makes a note of the apartment number and just pushes every single buzzer there is. Someone finally unlocks the door and David opens it, goes inside, and lets it slam behind him as he heads for the lift. 

//

The elevator is slow, _outrageously_ slow, but it finally rings at the fourth floor and David hardly waits for the doors to open before he stalks out of it and down the hall. He raps on one apartment door, three sharp knocks, and when it doesn't open immediately, he knocks again, harder. He can hear movement inside and David finally kicks the door, hard enough that he almost breaks the wood. 

The door opens and Fernando stares at him. David looks at him and says, "What the fuck kind of _place_ are you living in? One good kick would take the door down, and there's no security. What if crazy stalkers get in here? You'd be _toast_." 

Fernando's still staring, but then he starts to _smile_. 

David rolls his eyes and brushes his way past Fernando, into the apartment. David prowls through every room as Fernando closes the door, taking in the clean kitchen, the piles of magazines and DVDs around the bed, the godforsaken ridiculously awful couch. 

"Well?" Fernando asks.

David turns to look at him, sees Fernando leaning against the wall, jeans slung low on his hips and a thick sweater covering up every inch of his arms, chest, neck. 

"You live in a rat-trap," David finally says. "And if you're that cold, you should just put the heat on." He pauses, grimaces, and says, "It's not as if you're broke. Turn the damn heat on." 

Fernando grins again and says, "Thermostat's behind you." 

David huffs and turns, scanning the wall. He sees the thermostat and punches it up almost to thirty. "There," David says, turning back to Fernando. "Was that so hard?"

Fernando shakes his head, says, dutifully, "No, David, it wasn't that hard." They stand there, staring at each other, and Fernando finally asks, "Why are you here? Not that I don't appreciate it, because, well. But I would've thought. I mean, the others have bitched enough about Guardiola and his curfews before, and I know how long it must have taken to get down the M1 at this time of day."

"I don't have long," David admits. "Pep threatened to start Afellay in my place if I'm late getting back to the hotel." Fernando snorts and David rolls his eyes, says, "Yeah, that's what I said, too."

"So?" Fernando asks, after the silence stretches out. "Why _are_ you here?" 

" _Look_ at you," David says, gesturing with one hand. "You look fucking miserable."

Fernando wrinkles his nose and says, "It's good to see you, too, David." He pulls off his sweater, tosses it onto the couch, and David's eyes are drawn to the too-pale skin of Fernando's arms and shoulders, the way his t-shirt rides up a little, the discolouration on Fernando's neck. 

"What the _fuck_ ," David snarls, crossing the distance between them. He grabs Fernando's chin in one hand and tilts Fernando's head to the side, the fingers of his other hand smoothing carefully over the remnants of a bruise.

"Cesc," Fernando says. David growls but when he looks at Fernando, Fernando's eyes are full of honesty. "I'm still mad at you for that, by the way." 

David huffs, lets go of Fernando and moves back, perching on the couch's arm. "Still mad? Doesn't look like you minded it that much." 

The smile drops from Fernando's face at David's comment and he moves across the room, pushing David hard. David struggles for balance but eventually gives up, landing on his back on the couch. He rolls off quickly and gets to his feet, steadying himself for an attack as if he's squaring against an opposing team's centre-back rather than -- than whatever Fernando is to him. 

"Where the hell do you get off _doing_ something like that?" Fernando asks. "Calling one of our friends, calling _Cesc_ , and asking him to fuck me? As if I'm, as if I'm." 

Fernando trails off and David says, "We want you to be happy, you idiot. You've been miserable for months and nothing any of us can do will make you happier and then you transfer to fucking _Chelsea_ \-- God only knows what kind of hell you're putting yourself through in _that_ locker room." 

"You don't get to talk about them," Fernando snaps back. "They might be English and half the team might speak French, but they could be a lot worse. Besides, it's not like anyone else wants me."

David moves at that, shoves Fernando until Fernando's back hits the wall. "Don't say that," David growls. "Just, _don't_ ," and he takes Fernando's mouth, hot and hungry and desperate. 

He can feel Fernando trying to hold onto the anger, trying to be indignant, but it only takes a handful of seconds before Fernando breaks and kisses him back, just as angry, just as desperate. Even as David's trying to get his hands under Fernando's shirt, Fernando's trying to get David's jeans off, and they're fumbling with clothes and knocking their teeth against each others', just trying to get closer. 

"We did it for you," David mutters, as he grabs Fernando's wrists and pushes them to the wall above Fernando's head. Fernando fights but David bites down on the fading bruise Cesc left and bites _hard_ enough that most of the fight leaves Fernando's body. "We did it for. Do you think it was _easy_ for me? I wanted to be here. I wanted to."

"I know," Fernando says, and just like that, he stops fighting entirely. David loosens the pressure he has on Fernando's hands but they stay pressed against the wall, held there by Fernando's will, now, and not David's force. 

David kisses Fernando, gentler this time, and Fernando doesn't move as David strips them both with ruthless efficiency, letting clothes land where he throws them. "Fernando," David says. " _Niño_."

Fernando opens his eyes, gives David a smile, the first honest, deep smile that David's seen from Fernando in months, and says, "Guaje." The smile grows and Fernando asks, "Are you really going to fuck me against the wall?" 

"I'm tempted," David says. "I want to. It's been a while since we've done that." He lets go of Fernando, takes three steps back and lets his eyes feast on the image in front of him. What he sees is what he was expecting to find, though it disturbs him. Fernando has lost weight and he hasn't been sleeping, probably hasn't been eating; he's leaner than David remembers, and paler, and there are a handful of bruises over his body that must have come from training or games, judging by the size and placement. 

"Take a picture," Fernando drawls. "It'll last longer." 

David's eyes narrow. "Where did Cesc fuck you?" 

Fernando lets his arms drop back to his sides and he pushes himself away from the wall, standing there proudly with his head held high even though he's not wearing a stitch of clothing. "I didn't think you'd need a lesson in human anatomy," Fernando snarks back. "See, it's really simple. When two men." 

David _growls_ , cutting Fernando off. "Where were you?" 

This time, Fernando doesn't answer right away and when he does answer, the words are straight to the point. "In bed." 

David reaches out one hand. He wants to grab Fernando, yank Fernando close and pull him to the bedroom; he wants to but he won't. Instead, he lets his hand remain in the air, an offering, a peace gesture, whatever, and his fingers practically shake with the effort to wait. 

Fernando looks at him, then down at his hand. David's lips are dry, he's naked and it hasn't warmed up quickly enough, _fuck_ England, but then Fernando smiles and takes David's hand. Their fingers twine together and once David has Fernando, is sure that neither of them are letting go, he heads for the bedroom and tugs Fernando behind him. 

//

David pulls down the covers and makes Fernando lie down. They have to toss a few more magazines and notebooks out of the way first, tuck in the sheet on one corner, but then Fernando laying there, muscles lax as his head is turned, watching David. 

"I'm going to send you a space heater," David finally decides. "Jesus. Why the fuck do you keep it so cold in here?" 

Fernando grins, says, "You've gone soft, living in Barcelona. It's not that cold. Besides, next season I'll have a house. Olalla wanted to sell the place in Liverpool before she moved down here, and she has friends up there. You know that."

David frowns and mutters, "Just because I know it doesn't mean I like it." Fernando rolls his eyes and David takes that as an invitation, climbing onto the bed and straddling Fernando, settling onto Fernando's thighs. "I want you," he says, "to tell me everything that Cesc did." Fernando opens his mouth and David puts his hand over Fernando's lips, says, " _Niño_. Don't make me ask you again." 

Fernando nods and David moves his hand. "He kissed me," Fernando finally says. David raises an eyebrow and asks where; he can tell Fernando's tempted to kick him off the bed and out of the house, but Fernando just sighs and gestures at his lips. 

David leans down, kisses Fernando hard, licking Fernando's lips before letting his tongue dart into Fernando's mouth and map out every inch, every crevice. His hands are curled around Fernando's hair, what length there is left to curl around, and Fernando's so warm beneath him, so pliant, as he lets David kiss away every trace of Cesc. 

"What then?" David asks, as he pulls back. Fernando's eyes are turning dark and heavy-lidded, and David hadn't noticed but Fernando's hands are resting on David's hips, warm and gentle and _right there_. 

Thank God the team beat Real Madrid. 

"He kissed my cheek, then his teeth, down the side of my neck," Fernando says. "Nails down my sides. That's when he told me that everyone knows about us. I didn't -- why didn't you _tell_ me?" 

David rubs his nose on the curve of Fernando's cheekbone, plants little barely-there kisses down Fernando's neck until he gets to the bitemark, already blooming into a dark purple. David grins, seeing it, and sucks on the skin until Fernando makes a noise and shifts beneath him. 

"I liked the sneaking," David tells him, as he nips across Fernando's collarbone, leaving slight indentations of his teeth across the freckled skin. "I like hiding you away from them. You're mine. I don't like to share." 

"You don't share at _all_ ," Fernando says. "Why do you think. I mean, when Cesc told me." 

David looks up at that, meets Fernando's eyes. "It wasn't easy," David says. "But you." 

He stops, can't get the words out. Fernando lifts a hand, cups his cheek. David turns his head, kisses Fernando's palm, and closes his eyes, waiting for Fernando to say something, anything. 

"I cupped his cheeks, like this," Fernando says, mirroring the words with actions, "and then I leaned up to kiss him." David settles back, a little, as Fernando sits up and presses their foreheads together. They kiss lazily for a few minutes, until Fernando says, "It was different, with Cesc. It was." Fernando stops, lets out a deep breath, and says, "We jerked each other off. Nothing else." 

David isn't sure what that's supposed to mean, beyond the obvious, but there's something in Fernando's voice, something in the way he's holding himself there, waiting. 

"If you think," David says, "for one minute, that I risked the wrath of Pep Guardiola and the entire first string of F.C. Barcelona to come over here and give you nothing more than a fucking hand-job, then you're an idiot." 

Fernando grins, leans forward and gets his teeth on David's lower lip, pulls almost hard enough to break the skin. "Well, then, _guaje_. What are you waiting for? Stop talking and fuck me already." 

David smirks back, says, "I _do_ have a curfew, you know." 

"Then you'd better stop wasting time and fucking get to it," Fernando replies, the grin just getting bigger. 

//

David pushes Fernando back down and leans over him. Fernando's hands wrap around the back of David's neck and his nails dig in when David gives Fernando a matching mark on the other side of his neck. 

"I'm going to have to wear, _fuck_ ," Fernando hisses, as David swipes his tongue over the new mark, then bites down on it again, _hard_.

"Cover them up if you want," David murmurs. "I'm still the only one allowed to give them to you." 

Fernando mutters something about cavemen and wolves but David can feel how hard Fernando is. "Hands," David says. "Above your head."

Without hesitation, Fernando does as directed, though a curious shudder goes through his entire body when his right hand slides under the pillow. Fernando's gone frozen underneath him and David doesn't know why, just as he doesn't know why Fernando's suddenly staring at him with wide eyes. 

David could ask but instead he just leans, arm sliding against Fernando's as he reaches under the pillow. He knows from the feel that he's touching a jersey and his eyes go dark and narrow as he pulls it out. 

"Who the fuck would, why are you sleeping with," David starts to say. He stops, abruptly, as he sees the colours and then the name on the back. Fernando closes his eyes. David stares at the jersey, then down at Fernando, taking in the sudden flush of colour spreading across Fernando's cheeks, down his neck. 

Fernando cracks one eye open just enough to look at him, and David can't help the slow, possessive smile that crosses his lips. "You sleep with my jersey," he says, and wouldn't change for the world the smug pleasure in his tone. " _Mine_." 

Fernando rolls his eyes, sighs and says, "You're never going to let that go, are you." 

"Not a chance in hell," David replies. He ties the jersey around Fernando's wrists, loving the way the crimson and blue look against Fernando's skin, comparing the colours to the bruises David left scattered over Fernando like a painter surveying his half-finished canvas. "Above your head. And on _top_ of the pillow." 

David waits for Fernando to do as directed, then moves to reach into the second drawer on the side-table, taking out lube and a condom. 

"How did," Fernando starts to ask, then stops, narrows his eyes. "You had Cesc _spy_ on me? Go through my things?" 

"He volunteered the info," David snaps back. "I didn't ask him. And it's not as though I liked the reminder that he'd been here and I hadn't."

Fernando glares, says, "You're the one who sent him." 

David matches Fernando's glare with one of his own and draws his nails across Fernando's stomach. Fernando gasps at the sting and David watches as the white lines turn red and pink. "I'll make you forget he was ever here," David promises with a scowl. "You're mine, _niño_."

He moves, pushes Fernando's legs apart and then kneels between them. Fernando still his has arms above his head, resting on the pillow, and his eyes are fixed on David as David coats two fingers in lube and then starts to circle Fernando's hole. 

"You're gonna run out of time at this rate," Fernando tells him. 

David can hear the attitude practically dripping from Fernando's words; he pushes one finger inside of Fernando and Fernando immediately lets his head fall back, turns silent. 

It's been too long since David's had Fernando; he can barely keep control long enough to make sure Fernando's stretched enough before he adds another finger. 

"Jesus, _niño_ ," he murmurs, as he scissors his fingers, more than ready for what that tight heat is going to feel like around his dick. 

" _Guaje_ , are you trying to kill me?" Fernando asks, spreading his legs and lifting his hips a little off the bed, a clear sign that he's ready for more if the impatience in his tone wasn't enough to tip off David.

David's tempted to string this out, to make Fernando beg, but it's been too long and he needs to be inside of Fernando _now_. 

Two fingers become three, and then David's sliding on the condom and putting Fernando's legs on his shoulders. He sits there a few seconds, staring down at Fernando, taking in the bruises, the jagged scratches, the jersey around Fernando's wrists. 

Fernando looks at him, his eyes so dark and his cheeks so flushed, and says, "Fuck me, _guaje_." 

"Be nice," David says, smirking. "Say please." 

"You're such an asshole," Fernando snaps. His arms tense and for a moment, David thinks that Fernando's going to fight him on this, that it's going to be rough and loud and close to brutal. He's ready for it, ready for anything. 

Fernando shivers and growls, " _Please_ ," biting out the word through kiss-swollen lips. 

"Thank god," David says, as he moves forward, working his way into Fernando's body. It's better than he remembers, the way Fernando feels beneath him, around him, and David says, "There's no way in hell we're waiting this long again next time." 

"There won't _be_ a next time if you don't _fuck me_ ," Fernando says. 

Just for that, David starts off slow. 

He can't hold that rhythm, though, not for very long, with the noises Fernando's making. David moves faster, one hand pressing bruises into Fernando's hip, the other on the bed for better purchase. Fernando's hips are rising up every time David thrusts and soon enough David shifts, then drags Fernando with him, until Fernando's legs are splayed wide apart and David can kneel and snap his hips forward into Fernando from a better angle. Fernando still has his wrists above his head though his hands are gripping the pillow, body straining with the position he's holding and the need to come. 

David jerks Fernando off with one hand, says, "God, you're fucking tight, _niño_ , feels so good." 

" _Guaje_ , please, just, fuck, come on," Fernando says, his eyes closed, his forehead dotted with tiny beads of sweat. "Fuck me harder, come on." 

For once, David does as Fernando asks without arguing or drawing it out; he's desperate, can feel his climax building in his toes and his fingers, every muscle in his body drawn out tight and tense. He fucks into Fernando harder, deeper, faster, until his entire sphere of vision is caught on the bruises across Fernando's neck and all he can feel is the slide of Fernando around him. 

"Yeah," Fernando murmurs, then says, again and again, over and over, until he shudders, coming with a keening whine that goes right to David's dick. Fernando's barely caught his breath when David comes; David's rhythm falters and he presses himself closer to Fernando, tighter, as if there was any physical way he could be even further inside.

Fernando shifts, both of them hissing at the sensation, and tilts his body just enough to prop up one foot on the bed. David rests his forehead on Fernando's knee, catches his breath like that. 

"No Cesc, ever again," David finally says, looking at Fernando. 

Fernando grins, says, "Cesc who?" David feels a shiver of satisfaction run through his nerves, every single one of them. Fernando moves his arms, cautiously at first, then, when it's clear David isn't going to say anything about it, faster. He offers his wrists to David, an obvious question. 

David carefully unties the jersey, tosses it over one shoulder, and rubs the feeling back into Fernando's wrists and hands. There are slight marks, nothing raw, just red, and David can't help the smile. Fernando snatches his hands back, smacks David on the shoulder, loud enough for the sound to echo around the room. 

Fernando scoots back, carefully, and winces as David pulls out of him. David wants to get the condom off but he checks Fernando first, makes sure he isn't torn or bleeding before David takes off the condom and ties it. 

"You could get me a cloth from the bathroom," Fernando says, gesturing in that direction. 

"You're right," David replies. "I could." 

Fernando opens one eye to glare and David can't help chuckling at the sight of him, sprawled out and fucked into exhaustion, yet still bitching like the best of them. 

//

David cleans up as best he can in the bathroom and gets a washcloth damp, taking it back to the bedroom. He wipes Fernando off, gets dressed while Fernando watches, then manhandles Fernando under the covers, snapping back every time Fernando complains. 

Fernando says he's not wearing clothes, David says that the sheets are clean enough. Fernando says he'll freeze to death, David reminds him that the thermostat's been bumped up and tosses a couple extra blankets on the bed. Fernando says that it's not even ten in the evening, David drawls, "Because those hollows under your eyes are a good sign that you're getting enough sleep, _niño_ , sure." 

"I'm _fine_ ," Fernando says, then is clearly taken off-guard by a yawn. David snickers and Fernando glares, mutters, "Fuck off." 

"Stay in bed and _sleep_ ," David orders. "I can show myself out of this shit-hole you call a home." 

Fernando opens his mouth, then closes it with a sigh. " _Fine_ ," he mutters, and though he sounds petulant, he burrows into the blankets, his eyelids taking longer and longer to open every time he blinks. "See if I care if you can't find the elevator."

David snorts. He tucks his jersey in next to Fernando, pleased when he sees Fernando instantly move to hold it tight. David eyes Fernando for a moment but can't help bending down, placing a kiss on Fernando's forehead. Fernando stares at him, wide-eyed, as he stands back up, and David rolls his eyes, says, "Don't you dare say a word, _niño_."

Fernando smiles, calming down, and says, "You'll score on Saturday, you know." 

"Yeah?" David asks. "Why're you so sure about that?" 

"Because you're _el guaje_ ," Fernando murmurs, already half-asleep. "You'll win." 

David looks down at Fernando. He looked tired and drawn when David arrived, now Fernando is glowing and actually _sleeping_. David stands there, watches for a few minutes until Fernando's breathing evens out, then he finally smiles and shakes his head. He makes his way out of the apartment, then the building, and catches a cab to go back to London Colney. 

//

David walks into the hotel ten minutes before eleven. Pep's in the lobby with Emili, Tito, Xavi, and Puyi; Pep merely checks his watch and nods at him even while the others are staring. 

"Get some sleep, David," Pep calls out. 

As David rounds the corner towards the stairs, he can hear Puyi start to say something and hears Xavi cut him off a split-second later. 

David passes Leo and Geri on the stairs. Leo raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything; Geri starts to tease him. David cuts Geri off, looks at Leo and says, "I'm going to score on Saturday. We're going to win." 

"Yeah," Leo says, elbowing Geri just as Geri opens his mouth. "We are."

David nods at them and continues up the stairs. Behind him, Geri says, "What the _fuck_?" 

Leo sighs. "Geri, I love you, but you're an idiot sometimes, you know that, right?" 

"Fuck off," Geri replies. "I may be an idiot but at least I'm not, at least I'm not _short_."

"Maybe if you were shorter, you wouldn't look like a giraffe when you run," Leo says. 

The bickering fades away as David gets upstairs and pads down the hallway to the room he's sharing with Pedro. It's dark when David gets inside, and quiet; he takes his pyjamas into the bathroom and gets ready for bed as quietly as possible before turning off the light and creeping across the room to his bed. 

Just as David's getting into bed, Pedro asks, "Was it worth it?" 

"Go to sleep," David says. "You'll need it. The _míster_ 's up planning drills with Tito and Xavi."

It takes a minute, but then Pedro says, "That wasn't an answer, David." 

"Yeah," David says. "Yeah, it was. Now seriously, shut the fuck up. I'm exhausted." 

Pedro snorts and rolls over. 

David closes his eyes, thinks of the colours of Barcelona's jersey, _his_ jersey, against pale, freckled skin, and smiles.


End file.
